A General's son
by juliasejanus
Summary: What if …. AU of Skeleton Key. Alex persuades General Sarov not detonated the bomb with the promise that he would do anything the general asked to save Europe from slow radioactive death.
1. Chapter 1

Alex stood handcuffed in front of Alexei Sarov. The bastard Conrad had disappeared and the sound of the gun battle was sporadically heard in the distance. The fourteen year old was very cold and was shivering on the crumbling concrete quay of Murmansk Submarine Base. Only dressed in the same thin clothes he had worn in tropical Cuba, which offered no protection in the cold penetrating wind off the Barents sea. He now knew the full details of the general's plot to blow up the Submarines at Murmansk with the dirty bomb built from illegally procured plutonium, which on detonation would send a cloud of radioactive death over western Europe in a bid to depose the democratic government of the Russian Federation. An act of terrorism to turn back the clock and to reimpose the might of the Stalinist era USSR, to re-erect the Iron Curtain and make his home a world power again, feared by all. Alex knew his efforts to alert the authorities in Scotland had failed. The defending troops here at this mostly derelict naval base were loosing to Sarov's forces. The boy looked at the bomb on the quayside. Alex had no more cards to play, well maybe one. He was the image of young Vladimir Sarov.

"Please don't kill all those people, General. There has to be another way. Can't you blame Conrad. Say it was all a plot by enemy agents or by terrorists? Tell people you were blackmailed. That they were using me to force you to do their bidding? Please, don't detonate that bomb. My father would not do such a thing. My father was an honourable soldier, sworn to defend his country, his homeland, to protect the weak and the innocent. My friends Tom, Sabina and James at school in London don't deserve long slow painful deaths. I'll do anything... even take the blame for all this. You can shoot me as a foreign spy, just don't poison Europe." At this point Alex faltered and knelt before the man. His head bowed. Tears streaming down his face. He was about to die, to be vapourised, if the General went ahead with his plans because Alex would not, could not follow a man cold enough to do such a heinous act of mass murder.

Alex did not see Alexei Sarov raise his arm, gun in hand. The butt of the handgun connected with the child-spy's skull and he fell unconscious.

...

Alex woke in a white room, which smelled of a faint mix of sewerage, stale food and antiseptic. Obviously a hospital with its old fashioned beds, the glass saline bottle attached to the drip in his left arm. He reached up to touch his head, which was swathed in bandages. He saw the bruises on his wrist and felt the deep bruising on his back from the beating he'd received from Conrad after trying to alert the customs official at Edinburgh Airport. He groaned at the deep throbbing headache, the stabbing pain in his eyes from the too bright room and the bile rising in his throat from his queazy stomach. He definitely had one hell of a concussion. He closed his eyes and tried to organise recent events despite the pain. Was he in Cuba? He had a vague recollection of traveling. Was he in Russia? He then woke fully and shuddered. Had that bomb detonated? If it had why was he alive?

Possibly the ugliest nurse in the universe came in and started to speak to him in Russian. Asking questions as if she thought he understood her.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am but I don't speak Russian." He tried to remember the few words of Russian General Sarov had tried to teach him, but he could not remember much that would be useful here. He then realised he'd spoken with an American accent, he was still clinging to his legend as Alex Gardiner. "Where am I?"

The woman then spoke another spring of unfamiliar words and patted his arm, before leaving.

A middle aged woman came in with deep red hair and wearing a white coat, a stethoscope around her neck. She smiled and spoke with english with a slight Russian accent. "Good Afternoon, My name is Irina Ivanova. I am your physician. You are a patient here at the Murmansk Clinical Hospital. You have a skull fracture. You have had surgery to alleviate the neurological trauma. You must rest. We will be monitoring you closely but you are currently stable. You will receive the best care but please can you answer my questions. Your name please?"

"Alex... Alexander John... errr..." to lie or not to lie. "... Rider." Alex settled on the cold hard truth, consequences be damned. He had no idea what was happening, what had happened or if he was in deep shit. The only reassurance was that this hospital was in Murmank so the bomb had not gone off.

"Date of Birth?"

"13th February 1987."

"Parents or Guardians?"

"Parents Dead... My uncle Ian Rider brought me up and he died in March... errr, my foster parents Tom and Belinda Gardiner died in a diving accident in Cuba, ten days ago."

"Umm, that checks out." The doctor then shone a bright pen light in Alex's eyes and then spoke to the nurse in sharp terse Russian. "We must continue to monitor your brain injury. you will be woken at 2 hour intervals for the next two days. I will now test your physical responses."

The covers were removed and Alex shivered, wanting to be back in the oppressive heat of the Caribbean. He felt impossibly tired as the doctor made him moved his arms, legs hands, feet, toes and fingers.

"Good boy. Now rest. You will have some dinner soon, you must be hungry."

"Errr, no. I feel pretty sick, umm.. like I might vomit err... nauseous thats the word." Alex at this lay back and closed his eyes. The conversation was exhausting him.

"That is normal, food will be light and bland, OK."

"Umm.. sure." He mumbled as he fell back to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Alexei Sarov sat in a luxurious prison. He was currently under house arrest in his own dacha, north of Moscow. A house he had not visited for fourteen years. He thought back to his split second decision to listen to a boy with a good pure heart, excellent reasoning and willingness to die for his beliefs. Alexander was such a beautiful child, so like Vladimir. A child willing to take the blame for events beyond his control to stop an act of complete madness. Alexei's mind was in turmoil even if his outward appearance he looked calm and collected. What had driven him to such desperate measures? He had always been a patriot, a good soldier and a protector as Alexander had explained. The boy had driven home how a good Russian should act. He had knocked the boy unconscious in case his change of heart failed. He telephoned Cuba and with a short exchange of codewords, the President and his entourage were free, the blackmail material was still Alexei's for leverage. As a rich recluse no one knew what he had been up to in the intervening years between 1989 when he left Russia and the summer of 2001. Alexander was his son, Alexei would fabricate evidence that a child conceived during an illicit affair with a woman called Helena Beckett. Alexei had been in London that summer as part of Premier Gorbachov's delegation for greater openness and reconciliation after the disaster at Chernobyl. In apparent desperation, the retired general phoned his old friend, Roman Petrushkov, Head of Federal Security to tell him his illegitimate son had been found, abducted and held hostage by a Scorpia terrorist called Conrad. This leverage had been used to control the general, but the boy was now dead from a blunt force trauma to the head. Alexei had spoken fast and manically of the Turkish Assassin, who had a bomb due to go off in the hour in Murmansk. Alexei would sacrifice himself to stop this terrorist, he had nothing left to live for.

Alexei had disarmed the bomb only to be cornered by an angry Conrad, who had overpowered the general and was about to kill him when a sniper shot the insane terrorist. The mopping up operation was swift. Alexei had crawled over to Alex to hold the boy's bloody head in his hands and had wept in pure grief.

It had been a perfect image of a distraught man with his son. The general wailed that the boy had not believed he was his father. A boy brought up by strangers as a westerner with no knowledge of Russia. Alexei had been sedated and woke up here to spin his story of manipulation and betrayal. On his side was the fact the CIA agents 'the Gardiner's', Alexander's foster parents had disappeared. He would state they had taken Alexander from his English home to deliver him to Conrad. Helena, John and Ian Rider were dead and any agent in black ops were disavowed if discovered. Neither the CIA or MI6 would claim Alexander. These facts played into Alexei's hands.

As soon as the General had awoken from his sedation, he had been told the boy was alive but very ill in Murmansk. He had been interrogated. The events had painted the Russian President, Boris Kiriyenko in a very bad light. The man would be ousted from power. A protege of Petrushkov was rumoured to be in position to take power. The western looking regime in power would fall and a conservative, nationalist regime would rise. Sarov would groom Alex for this new Russia. A country rich in reserves and one who ould rise again as a world power.

...

After two days in hospital, Alex was deemed well enough to be moved. He was helped into a wheelchair and then to an ambulance, which took him to the same airport he'd arrived at three days before. During his stay at the hospital, the teenager had only answered directly asked questions, always truthfully, but never offering any additional information. Luckily no one had asked about General Sarov, the Gardiners, the CIA or MI6. He had no appetite, his had woken with vivid nightmares every time he slept and he was exhausted, worrying about what the hell was going on. Alex started shaking as the plane started to descend. His mind whirring with a million possibilities, none of them pleasant. He was again adrift in the hands of fate and this time he would have to answer for his decisions, especially if General Sarov was involved.

The small plane landed and taxied. Alex was itching for fight or flight. His heart pounding in anticipation as it seemed an age until the stairs were drawn up to the plane ad then the door opened. The steward waited for the officials to enter the plane, two officers in the full uniform of Federal State Security.

"Good morning, Alexander. We have a short journey to a clinic. Then you will tell us all the events that lead to General Sarov's involvement with the terrorist Conrad Weitz."

Alex sat as a doctor took his vitals and then conversed with his two interrogators. The Alex started to talk. "I better start at the beginning, for you to understand. I am going to break the Official Secrets Act, but I owe it to the General for you to understand, I was never out to act against Russia or the General. I am just caught up in these events. So here goes."

Colonel Vadim Sturtz was watching the live feed of the interview with the English boy and almost immediately called up their files on John and Ian Rider. He then spoke to his secretary who was taking short hand notes. The boy talked and talked in a flat emotionless tone, unburdening himself of details of operations and risk taking. The child stopped as he finished describing the events in Murmansk. Only then did the child start to cry, sobbing gently as his life had been laid bare. Sturtz sat pondering this tale of blackmail, manipulation and abuse. Alex had tailored his answers not to incriminate the General and paint Conrad a the evil-doer. He owed the General, he had scarified his plan for power and defused that bomb. His change of heart had saved all of Alex's friends. He had told them all about MI6 and the CIA as at the moment imprisonment in Russia was preferable to being used and abused back home.

"I cannot believe this Dimitri. This is even worse than even the tale Sarov told us. He assumed Alex was abducted by Conrad, not a child used by those devils in London and Washington." The truth from that child's mouth was a million times worse than a tale of kidnapping but a plot on a Machiavellian scale. The interview would be repeated tomorrow, but after two days disorientated by sleep depravation, the child was already at the end of his tether.

Sturtz then held up a photo of Vladimir Sarov. This boy was almost identical to Sarov's eldest son. Sarov had said he had an affair with the boy's mother. She had been in an on-off relationship with John Rider for seven years without becoming pregnant. The two men looked similar. Somehow Scoria had learned of the boy's true parentage and used it against General Sarov, but the incident at that school in France would explain the truth of Alex's parentage coming out. Blood tests, dna analysis and full body scan were taken of Alexander for that plot using clones. Then there were the suspected links between Grief and Scorpia. The time scales all made sense. Scorpia working to have the CIA damn Sarov, their use of Alexander to ensnare the grieving General. One big ploy to return Russia and America to the Cold War.


	3. Chapter 3

Three agents missing, two presumed dead. It was definitely not a good month for Joe Byrne. He had heard from MI6 that a bomb was headed to Russia on the Presidential plane Plane after Sarov had left Cuba, but the Russian had surrendered in Murmansk and were all were blaming the Assassin Conrad for the whole plot. General Alexei Sarov was under house arrest but intel from his contacts in Russian Federal Security Services stated the man had been a victim blackmail and was not considered to be the protagonist of this attempted coup. The plutonium bomb had been disassembled and the fissile material handed over for proper regulation with the International Atomic Energy Agency. None of these events had made it into the press. Belinda Troy and Tom Turner had disappeared on Cuba three weeks ago and Alex had last been seen on the plane at Edinburgh Airport with General Sarov a week later, where the boy had been described as the General's son.

Now he had a mountain of paperwork to shred. The files for his Missing agents went in storage. He would deny everything if questioned. All who worked for Black ops knew that. Fuck up and you were on your own. Die and that would be it; no burial, no funeral, no enquiries or investigations. Byrne then looked at the photograph of Alex used for his fake US passport and had an uneasy feeling that the Russians had the kid. If this became public there would be hell to pay. Byrne always knew there was the chance his dirty, underhand and illegal operations may lead to prison time, but America's defense and security were worth it. Even the life and liberty of a child.

...

Roman Petrushkov sat in the back of his limousine as it made its way out of Moscow and north for a house call. In the file were the results of DNA analysis proving Alex Rider was not the biological child of Alexei Sarov. He would be breaking this news to his old friend very gently. The proud and formal General had been deceived. This was not the fault of the child. Alex Rider had been used and left to rot by both the CIA and MI6, it was now in the hands of Federal Security, what to do with this brave child who had been tortured, beaten but who had remained defiant and had been willing to give up his life to save Sarov and to prevent nuclear catastrophe on Russian soil. The boy deserved more than prison as a agent of a foreign power engaged in espionage. Then again, Sarov already loved the child and the boy had nothing to go back to. The agencies involved in the boys misuse would have covered their tracks and would deny everything if these events became public. The whole incident was being kept secret, they would not even use Alex Rider to discredit the American Central Intelligence Agency.

The old spymaster mused on this problem. The boy with his background could be used to control General Sarov and keep that wily old fox in line. Petrushkov had read the psychological profile of the child, maybe keeping the boy in the clinic was after all the best idea. Alex Rider was deeply disturbed and had been diagnosed with paranoia, PTSD and possibly of dissociative personality disorder. The staff at the clinic stated the child had horrific nightmares, flashbacks, no appetite and mistrusted all acts of kindness. Such a child would keep the General's hands full and keep him out of politics.

"I don't care if the child is not my biological son. He is the image of Vladimir. It is fate that boy crossed my path. My life will be whole again." Sarov exhaled loudly and relaxed before sitting again. All signs of his temper and upset gone. "He looks like his mother, Helena. I was such a fool that summer in London." Alexei shook his head. "We were both married but unhappy so. If she had told me she was pregnant then, I would have accepted the child. My marriage to Galina at that point was on paper only. She was already upset that Vladimir was a Military College, following in my footsteps. She wanted him to go to University and be a cultured scholar." The man smiled and then confessed, "Alexander looks like his mother, he has her spirit, her smile. Even as her friend, should I not love her son like my own?"

Roman gave a slight incline of his head, as if he was considering his old fiend's point of view. "The boy needs a father. Alexander has no hope, no trust. He will be a handful, but I think you will become young again with a fine son to mould. We, and you know I mean the entire government, want the boy on a tight leash but he does not deserve detention. I may let our friends in London and Washington think we have imprisoned the boy. Keep him safe, Alexei. He is a little hero." The Director of Russian Federal Security watched Alexei closely. He knew that the English boy had given a fuller and more detailed account of the plot to destabilize Europe. Sarov was a more embroiled in these events than he had made out. However, Petrushkov was not unhappy with the fall of President Kiriyenko. Russia needed a fright to shock the establishment of of its complacency and it had just had one. A strong leader would be better for the country. Sarov had given Russia a push in the right direction rather than return it to dictatorship and the dark days of Stalinist terror.

...

The clinic was in the countryside, near Vladimir. Federal Medical Mental Health No. 11 was used by the Security Services. It was high security and evaluated both their own agents and those dissidents who needed long interrogation after disappearing for their own good. Alex had received long head shrinking sessions as well as interrogations. He had not been tortured but he had endured sessions under hypnosis and using truth serums. The drug had given Alex bag hangovers with headaches, nausea and drowsiness. The nausea had not helped the fact alex had no appetite recently. He was loosing weight and was now, with the lack of exercise considerably thinner than he had been at the beginning of the summer. His hair had grown to be a short fuzz. He could feel his healing scar on the side of his head, jagged from staples and stitches. Without a mirror, he guessed he looked a bit like Frankenstein's monster. He had gotten used to the fact he was always cold, but that may be a side affect of not eating properly.

After three weeks, he was taken to the patents lounge. There waiting was Alexei Sarov, dressed casually in a jumper, slacks and ankle boots. The man practically beamed on seeing Alexander.

The general moved forward and hugged the stiff and tense teenager. "Darling boy, you look ill." He stepped back and noted the dark circles under Alex's eyes, his pale skin, and too thin frame. The child no longer a fit and healthy English boy, but a frail prisoner in need of TLC. I have some good news. You have been cleared to come stay with me. I have a private physician, a French chef and have hired some tutors for you. First I think maybe a holiday is needed. I have a house on the Black Sea. The weather warm and sunny to put colour back into your cheeks."

Alex looked at the man and attempted to smile before bursting into tears. He had expected prison or worse being forced back to face the music in London. Alexei pulled the boy back into a hug and held him close, stroking his short hair. "Shhusshh, Its OK. We have much to talk about. A new start for both of us. We can move past our previous mistakes. You need rest and recuperation. A home. The we can decide on the future, but only after our holiday."


	4. Chapter 4

Alex lay on a towel on the white soft sand on a small stretch of private beach located on the outskirts of Anapa, a popular Black Sea resort. He had spent two weeks lying in the morning sun and swimming in the blue waters of the Black Sea. His routine after an early morning run with the General. His afternoons spent learning Russian. Today, the heat, blue skies and quiet soft break of the waves were perfect. Alex had finally relaxed. Alexei had told him not to worry, he would want for nothing. The General had generously provided for Alex's needs. He wore a pair of designer swim trucks. His new clothes were all rather conservative, but they reflected Alexei's taste. He drank from the bottle of water he had brought from the house. The sun was getting high, as it neared noon. Alex picked up his belongings and headed back to the steps that lead to the villa's terrace. He would shower and dress for lunch. Misha was stood watching as he always did. He patted Alex on his shoulder as he passed. Alex knew all Alexei's bodyguards now. All were ex-Russian Army. All were friendly to the boy, helping him improve his russian, even playing games with the child.

Alex stood in the bathroom and dried himself, failing in his attempt to accomplish the task at hand without looking in the mirrors. The room had a large mirror above the sink and the whole wall opposite was mirrored tiles. The endless reflections made it hard for the boy not to see the fading scars left by Conrad. His back and buttocks covered in fine lines from the belting he'd received on that awful day. Alex sniffed and rubbed his watering eyes, making their redness worse. He then bit his wrist hard, the pain focused him back to being a good Russian boy, not a London orphan and serial fuck up.

Alex put on a long sleeve shirt to hide the ring of deep bruising now colouring his lower arms. He took several steadying deep breaths and the wondered if anyone would miss a knife if he nicked one from the kitchens.

Alexei noted his son push the food around his plate at lunch. The fork went to the boy's mouth but no food was ingested. Alex then put down his fork and in a low voice, in English he spoke in a whisper.

"I have broken the rules imposed by the doctor. I... I suppose I shall be punished now." Alex felt sick. Bile rose in his throat and he could not stop himself as he dry heaved.

Alexei was up in a second and led Alex to the bathroom in the hall. He rubbed the boy's back as he vomited up his breakfast. Was this the problem? The doctor had spoken of Alex seeking control, by not eating and by hurting himself. The staff at the clinic had spoken of self inflicted bruises on the boys arms and legs, hidden beneath his clothes, but he'd been wandering around in shorts and t-shirts since the start of the holiday, except for today.

Alex stood looking at his feet in front of the desk in the General's office. The bite marks and bruises had been inspected by the old soldier and he was now talking to the psychologist in Moscow. Alex had spoken at length about his reasons for hurting himself. His hatred of himself. The fact he was beginning to relax, he had enjoyed himself so he had forgotten about his guilt, his hurt, his lost life back in London.

"You have been a good boy, admitting to your lapses. You should not be afraid of me. I promise I will not beat you, but you must not give in to these urges. You must come to me and tell me and we can work through this. You must be strong. I know you miss your friends and your old life, but that is in the past. I have told you, you cannot go back. MI6 have left you to your fate. You are lucky the men in power in Moscow see you as an innocent child and yes, Alexander, you are still a child. So your punishment is to write 100 lines. I must not hurt myself. Then you will have an afternoon nap and you are on hospital rations. Kasha for dinner to help settle your upset stomach. OK."

"Yes General. Thank you, General." Alex was so relieved, not be be beaten black and blue or to be sent back to Alan Blunt to an unknown future working for that man. He shuddered at what depths MI6 would go to, leant out to all and sundry. Alex had considered Blunt had sent him to Cuba on a suicide mission. Well that man no longer had to worry about Alex Rider.

"Come sit here and write. Remember your tenses and verbs in Russian, each line exact and neat. No sloppiness." Alex picked up the old fashioned pen with a nib, like from a Victorian school. He thouhgt and then wrote the first line in neat Cyrillic. "Is that correct?"

"Perfect. Now carry on."

...

At the beginning of August, Yassen Gregorovich had finally uncovered the truth about his friend John. He owed it to Alex, his friend's son, to find out the truth. Only, the boy had disappeared again. Yassen had a grim feeling about Alex's fate, as the house in Chelsea had been sold and cleared of personal effects and the housekeeper sent back to the United States. He had known John was a double agent, he had surmised his 'death' on Albert Bridge had covered his retirement. Yassen now knew the details of the death of Helena Beckett and her husband, John Rider. They had died in France. The light plane they were on had been blown up with a small plastic explosive device attached to the fuel tank of the plane.

Someone had lied to Yassen and in his own quest to be the best assassin he had let sleeping dogs lie. The Russian Assassin had pulled in favours this summer, he had saved the life of Levi Kroll three years previously and the Israeli was happy to oblige his colleague and dig the dirt on Julia Rothman and had told Cossack the details including the betrayal of Anthony Sean Howell on orders from the insanely jealous Julia Rothman.

Yassen was free to pick and choose his assignments. He had chosen to turn down the assignment to work for Damian Cray. The man was a protege of Julia, so Yassen used his inside knowledge to send a cryptic warning to the journalist Edward Pleasure to watch his back concerning that musician. The Russian was biting the hand that had fed him for fifteen years. He had come to realize John had not been testing him but genuinely been pushing him away from Scorpia. He had been a fool, but now he would travel south and destroy Ash and Winston Yu who had been hiding that treacherous piece of filth.

The next on his list was Julia Rothman herself and her nasty bodyguard Nile. He would personally destroy all those that had ordered him to kill Alex, one by one. Then he would go after the trail of the boy. The Russian had heard rumours of an operation in Cuba for the Americans.

...

Alan Blunt had ordered a cover up over the teen agent. Ian Rider's house was sold. All filing and details concerning the boy erased. The russians were quiet, no mention of them holding the boy. The last intel had been the boy's arrival in Murmansk. Alex Rider was burned as far as the Royal and General Bank was concerned. Missing presumed dead. The Russian had stated a minor terrorist attack had been foiled in Murmansk. The following week, the Russian President had stepped down stating ill health, and at the end of August, General Alexei Sarov had disappeared from the Dacha near Moscow, but the retired General was a multi-millionaire from arms deals in the late 1980's and early 1990's with several homes in Russia as well as in Cuba, Panama and Brazil. The old spymaster had seen a spying dynasty end with the death or imprisonment of a fourteen year old. He now had to endure the sour looks and biting remarks from his deputy and loose one of his best employees as the his Head of Technology, Derek Smithers had tendered his resignation.


	5. Chapter 5

Alex listened to Radio Moscow in his room, laid on his bed. The battered transistor radio was perched on the window sill to get its patchy reception. Alex had the full run of the Dacha and its grounds. He had broken into the disused house to the rear of the guards house, easily picking the padlock, and retrieving an old radio left by the previous inhabitants. Alex had fixed it with a bit of simple rewiring, not that it picked up much. Not enough power to listen to the BBC World Service or American Forces Radio. It was now 8pm was after dinner and Alex was meant to be doing his prep, as his new tutor called homework, but the latest episode of "Journey to Mars" was due to start and Alex wanted to know what had happened to the heroic Captain Volkov after last week's cliffhanger.

The general eavesdropped at his son's door. Alexei had obtained the long awaited papers from the Federal Migration Service and Department of youth policy, care and social protection of children for the Alex, he had officially adopted the boy through the Central Court in Moscow. After six weeks no one had objected to Alex Rider's placement and adoption. Alexander Rider's residency was now permanent. Next on the agenda was citizenship and name change to Aleksandr Alexeyevich Sarov.

There was a quiet knock and Alex sat up and immediately gave the acceptance for entrance "Come in". He went to the window to switch off his only entertainment.

"I'm sorry about the Radio, but there's a really good science fiction serial on normally at this time. I miss... the cinema, TV, even music. They played a full concert of Greig and Elgar last Sunday on Radio Moscow. I wonder if they'll play any Handel, but I guess thats just too English." Alex was rambling.

Alexei looked at the set, nearly twenty years old, with a broken cover. A old Soviet set, poor quality and with only twenty mile pick up for a signal. No chance Alex had heard any details, the child more interested in entertainment than news.

"Your radio is an antique, you may keep it, but it is confiscated until monday. No arguments. I too should be punished as I have neglected your cultural education. Music is allowed, so are plays but I must find out if this Science Fiction Serial is suitable for you. I hope it is family entertainment, not outlandish, subversive or frightening. I have to admit, I prefer fact based drama and biographies myself."

"No punishment. You are a general, if my education is not well rounded it is the fault of my tutor. Valentina sticks strictly to the curriculum. I read my required plays, novels and poems. I have not elected to take music, maybe I should. I also miss sport. I liked cycling, karate and football." Alex had no fear of expressing himself now, he pushed boundaries just to test what was and was not allowed

Alexei smiled and ruffled the short fringe, the longer hair covering the signs of the head trauma suffered seven weeks previously. Valentina Galinova was the tutor, Alexei had hired. She was instructed that Alexander was to take the International Baccalaureate rather than local state exams. "Sport, ummm. I will get the guards to include you in their programme of training. You must learn to shoot, in winter you will ski everyday when we cannot run. Cross country skiing and biathlon are sports I enjoy greatly. A fuller timetable to stop boredom, Ok?"

"OK. I better finish checking over my essay."

Alex worked and Alexei sat at the desk, looking over the boy's school work. Good grades, neat work and meticulous notes in English, French, German and Russian. Alex keeping up on all his skills. Alexei knew the old gamekeepers cottage was padlocked. Alex could obviously pick locks easily.

"You must tell me all that Ian taught you. I would hate to arrange for lessons in subjects and skills you are already proficient with." Alexei wondered on the boy's skills beyond sel defense, diving, skiing and cultural adaptation.

Alex considered this request and paused his rereading of today's set works. "Ian was preparing me for the life as a deep cover espionage agent. So, I was very sporty. I can ski well, I am a black belt first dan in karate, I can swim, dive, rock climb and I used to love orienteering. I can pick locks, hide, tail a target, drive a car, pickpocket and divert attention. I could tell Blunt lied about Ian'd death and everything escalated after I found out Ian had been murdered. I ... I don't lie to you. I don't like being lied to so I try not to deceive you as common decency, but some personal stuff is difficult to confess. Like my nightmares and worries. I still hate the fact I was used so badly by Alan Blunt and Joe Byrne."

"I actually came in to discuss the finalisation of your adoption. I would like you to become my son in name as well as on paper."

Alex put down his schoolbook. "Alex Sarov? or Sasha, thats more russian." Alex then thought to the only other Russian he knew, Yassen Gregorovich, who called him little Alex. Anglicizing the diminutive Sasha.

"Sasha is a lovely name. Only for good friends and family. Aleksandr is a good strong name."

"After the King of Macedonia." Alex had read a little in classics.

"Conqueror of the known world. Also the name of many Russians. A good name."

"I am glad to be your son, Alexei... father." Alex stood and realised he now had what he had always wanted, a proper parent, unconditional love and an attentive father, who loved him despite his many problems and faults.

"Good night son. Sweet dreams, beautiful boy."

Alexei sat and read, just a single light on in his room, across the hall from his son's room. He had good gearing and could hear mumbling and then groans. He stole into Alex... Sasha's Room. The boy was covered in sweat, shivering and upset, still deep asleep and trapped in a nightmare.

Alex sat bolt up right, the cry of "Papa!" on his lips. He dreamt of being alone. Of being robbed of comfort, stability and a home. His fears of life post-Ian's death were deeply ingrained. He saw his father in his dark blue pajamas stood in the doorway with the dim light behind him. Alex threw off the twist of covers and ran forward to hug his new father. "I dreamt they stole me away from you, took me back to England, to lose you." Alex sobbed at his raw dream. The shadows of Wolf, Blunt and Jones taunting him that he was unloved and unloveable. Good agents were cold, unemotional and alone. Ian had acted like he was alone even with his brother's son to look after.

"Come sleep in the spare bed in my room. I was reading anyway. I can watch over you. No one shall take you away from me, lovely boy. No one objected to your adoption. You are here legally. You belong here. No worries about your past, not here, not now." Sarov had not changed his sleeping quarters since his divorce. He and his wife had slept in separate, twin beds. Easier with his habit on four hours of sleep and reading into the early hours. He settled the boy into the other bed, which was always made up, linen changed every week. He had not taken another lover, he had not even considered it. He had all the family he needed now, he had a son and heir. His legacy was this bright and talented boy. This child had already saved him from his own demons.


	6. Chapter 6

The world had changed on the morning of the September 11th. The CIA were restructuring and reorganising after the terrorist attack in home soil, now sharing intel with the all the other agencies, to create one Department of Homeland Security. The CIA was still autonomous, still fighting in the shadows. The plot over the plutonium bought by Alexei Sarov was old news. News had filtered through that the Russian Federal Authorities had Sarov was under house arrest in Russia and the retired General was no longer a threat. Scorpia and its many tendrils were not an active threat to the US at the moment, still watched but with any active CIA assets. Intel was still passed to the analysts and discussed during the monthly meetings, but the fact Julia Rothman had died in a horrible accident in Turin was not relevant to CIA operations. The fact was noted by the Deputy Director of Covert Operations.

The rapidly shrinking Board of Scorpia was of personal interest to Joe Byrne. In July, Max Grendel had been eliminated by Julia Rothman as she briefly took charge of that criminal organisation. She controlled the largest number of known assets. Byrne was still worried about Conrad's connection to Sarov. Conrad was a known freelance operative formerly under Rothman's control, but he had died in Murmansk in August. By the end of October, Zeljan Kurst had died with his entire bodyguard team in Amsterdam. Winston Yu was missing, presumed dead and the Australians were in the middle of a serious internal audit over a deep cover mole within their ranks, reportedly Anthony Sean Howell. Formerly, MI6 and currently detained at the Australian Military base at in Arnemland in the Northern Territories. It was all interconnected, Byrne was sure it was all linked to the disappearance of Alex Rider.

Other news of note was the apparent suicide of the Russian Billionaire Nickolei Drevin, only weeks after the abduction and ransom of his son by a group of very suspect eco-terrorists. His space station had developed a serious fault and had broken up on reentry into the earth's atmosphere. His agents placed with Drevin Industries had been recalled and reassigned for internal threats. Byrne's time and budget assigned to more pressing matters. He sat and mused his makeshift information board in his office with all known Scorpia operative with links to all the clues about the demise of Scorpia starting with the death of Max Grenfell, but it must go back further. He did not dare ask MI6 for John Rider's file, after loosing Alex he owed them rather than expecting any favours in return. The use of the boy had been the perfect cover for Troy and Turner as a family but the two had died and Alex was in Russia, condition and status unknown.

...

Snow provided the perfect cover for the Assassin. He was well equipped for his hours watching the home of Alexei Sarov in the forest north of Moscow. He was dug in, well dressed and had a base in the woodland, an old shepherds hut, warm and cosy during the long nights. Yassen Gregorovich watched John's son. Little Alex was a prisoner here, but a well kept one. Yassen thought back to his own miserable existence, first as a street rat in Moscow and then as a slave for the murderer Sharkovsky for those two years after the death of his parents.

Here, Alex was educated, well dressed, he played sports, practiced karate and shooting. Alex was a normal boy, no longer at the beck and call of MI6, but Yassen did not trust Sarov or the Russian Authorities. He was in two minds. He could not offer Alex a normal life or stability. Alex laughed, smiled and was happy here in this gilded cage. The russian wondered on Sharkovsky and Sarov, alike, accept that Vladmir Sharkovsky had treated the fourteen year old orphaned Yasha like a dog and Sarov treated Little Alex like a son. Yassen stood, packed up all his equipment and decided left, his stake out over.

Yassen would buy a new identity, emerge from the shadows. He had the opputinity to reinvent himself. He had not just liquidated Rothman, Yu and Kurst. He had taken control of their financial assets. Levi Kroll had returned to Israel, to retire. Yassen had left the aging Dr. Three to either take control of the remains of Scorpia or to work as a freelance once again.

He would keep tabs on Alex. John's boy would grow up here, become a man. The Yassen would contact the young spy to give him a chance of freedom beyond Sarov's narrow world view.

...

Dale Christian was back at work after four months off after a motorbike accident in June. Three weeks in hospital, ten in a cast and five weeks intensive physio, to be able to walk again. His knee ached after sat for three hours going through his intray. All the cases with flags as urgent or active status were dealt with by his collegues in his absence. He noted a large envelop regarding an adoption in his post pile. It looked interesting and luckily the Russian's had provide had provided a translation. It was a first for Dale, he had never dealt with an adoption request from Russia before and he had worked for Social Services at Westminster and Chelsea for seven years.

He limped to Doreen's cubicle. "I've checked the system, we have no file for an Alexander John Rider. There is a request from Moscow Department of Family Services for an adoption. The hearing was four weeks ago. Their system means its approved by them. We just have the paperwork for our files."

"Sounds like a standard transfer of guardianship. Nothing to worry about it. Fourteen year old teenage orphan, death certificate of his uncle is included. Oh, no copy of a will or probate. May even relate back to the original will of John Rider. We don't have time to chase this. Its all in order, just file it, OK".

...

Alex was skiing hard, he had two kilometres to cover to the targets. This circuit in freestyle the next in nordic style. His last targets had all been perfect. He was an excellent shot with rifle or pistol. Just like the perfect Vladimir, long dead in Afghanistan. Alex pushed himself harder, up the slope, the fresh snow making it heavier going. Te whole winter was a long ski holiday, but here it was no longer part of Ian's master plan. No hint of Alex's return to operations. He was isolated, but kept occupied. He still missed Tom, but he had never confessed to anyone about Port Tallon, Point Blanc or the Triads at Wimbledon. He wondered if he would have told Tom the truth.

The next five shots were all on target, a kilometre to the end, then a steam bath with the General. Only Alexei was now his official father. The adoption paperwork had been sent to London. MI6 now knew he was out of the game. Alex was finally sleeping better. Maybe he could persuade Alexei to let him start to write to Tom as a penpal. Maybe that was a stupid idea. He was safe here. Better not rock the boat.


	7. Chapter 7

Alan Blunt read through the psychological report on Julius Grief. The boy was practically un usable, he was no Alex Rider, that was for sure. Ian had done an excellent job training his nephew. The Head of MI6 Special Operations wanted his perfect operative back under his control. His plans had been scuppered by a very legal adoption of the orphan Rider boy by Alexei Sarov. Only the Head of MI6 Special Operations held the wild card. He could not use the Grief clone as a replacement for Alex, but that abomination would make a perfect corpse. When he switched the two boys places. Alex would become the imprisoned Julius Grief, forever under the Bank's control and the Alex Rider doppelgänger, now Aleksandr Sarov, would have a cold grave in Moscow, when killed during a botched kidnapping.

...

Alex played a game of football Dimitry Ivanov, the orphaned son of General Victor Ivanov, in the warm spring sunshine. The air filled with the sound of laughter, shouting and the noise of two happy teenagers at play. Alexei tried to remember a time when Vladimir had been so happy and carefree. The General had been a part time father to his dead son, spending his time working, never devoting enough time to his darling Vladimir. His son had excelled in all things, like Aleksandr did. The two boys born a world apart were so alike.

At Christmas, Alex had sent of cards to the alumni of that school in France, happy in the knowledge that those boys had known the real Alex, the one used by MI6. He had written regularly to Dimitry since and had invited the orphan over to his fifteenth birthday celebration. The boys were close friends, who now enjoyed regular meetings, when their busy schedules allowed. This week Dimitry was on holiday from his boarding school in Ekaterinaburg, preferring to spend his holidays with his friend Alex, rather than distant relations who did not understand the horror and helplessness of his time at Point Blanc Academy, nor his guilt and grief over the murder of his father.

...

As a daring excursion, Alex and Dimitry dressed in the dark, well after lights out, and were planning on steeling out in the moonlight over to the woods, to sleep under the stars. The general knew of course and was joining them, to watch over them at a safe distance having already alerted his chief bodyguard that all three would likely be out for a few hours. The guards were also having a night time exercise tonight, all on high alert. The two boys, using stealthy tactics, slipped out of the house and across to the woods unobserved by the house guards to the place they had decided to camp. The boys pretending to be heroic partisans, evading Nazis. The general following, feeling like a schoolboy himself.

It was 4am, dark and cold, the witching hour, when it was darkest before dawn. Alex felt a hand around his mouth as he started away struggling at the intruder. If it was Dimitry, it was not funny.

The softest of whispers was barely audible to Alex as a familiar voice speaking in accent-less English spoke "Be quiet, Little Alex. We do not want to disturb your father, who has been called back to the house. I will stay and protect you and your friend."

Alex was quiet as the hand was removed. Yassen lay flat and motioned for Alex to do the same.

They lay still for for 20 minutes, when the short bark of gunfire could be heard from the direction of the dacha. Yassen rested his hand on Alex to keep him still and calm. The assassin was acting a silent protector.

Alex moved to silence Dimitry as he was woken by gunfire, using hand signals and touch to make the other boy aware to keep still, low and silent. The three listened to the ensuing battle.

...

There was a stiff firefight between the seven bodyguards, the chauffer, even the cook and tutor were proficient to handle firearms and to repel the intruders. The General was in his office on the phone when his line went dead. His first thought was for the boys in the woods, with no protection, no guns and no idea what was going on.

The team was six strong, four were ex-SAS, employed as they had all worked as mercenaries. Fox and Wolf were there to reassure and provide a positive identification of Cub, AKA Aleksandr Sarov. The seventh person was the ever smiling Cub lookalike. Wolf may have disliked the London schoolboy who had trained with K-unit, but he knew all about Grief's psychotic clones and had not allowed the switch any leeway.

"Fuck, I did not expect this! It was meant to be an easy in and out!" exclaimed Wolf.

"We cannot make a switch under these conditions. Abort, get back to the vehicles and split up. We will meet up in Zilupe."

Wolf then swore. "Grief's not here. Shit!"

Fox then made his decision. "Leave him to his fate. Get out now."

...

Julius stood in a bedroom that was neat, ordered and surprisingly bare. There was a single picture of what he supposed was General Alexei Sarov in his full dress uniform of the Red Army. The intruder looked through the drawers and closet. The games were stored on a single shelf, books were ordered by title. Not many, the teen touched them, unable to read the cyrillic. He then frowned, he spoke a few phrases of Russian. He had been reassured Alex spoke English and Spanish with his father, the general. Julius suddenly felt unprepared for this role. He had been so looking forward to finally fulfilling the grand plan. Maybe he could free his brothers, but that was not priority. Revenge on Alex Rider was.

The general heard the all clear and waited for his staff to check the house room by room. Only then could he make sure Alex and Dimitry were safe. The worry was nearly overwhelming.

The assassin had noted six attackers, had broken off and left. The camp area was now illuminated in the first light of dawn Yassen pulled up his gun as a stranger approached, but stopped by the second row of trees as if on guard and called softly in Russian. "Sasha, Dima stay where you are. There is a situation in the house.."

Alex could not stop himself "Lukyan...is the general OK..."

"Yes, but he is dealing with another... it is strange to explain. You but not you. The strange boy is fatter and shorter than you. You had a growth spurt last month. He is dressed in tee-shirt, trainers and jeans."

Alex knew immediately who the imposter was and accepted the hug from Dimitry, who was also suddenly and justifiably afraid, both had nightmares about the creepy clones that had almost stolen their futures. In that second the illusion of home, family and happiness was shattered for Alex. MI6 had sent his evil double to take his place. All Alex's insecurities surfaced "Do you trust me Dima?"

"Always, Alex." The Dark haired boy said, squeezing Alex's hand in reassurance.

"Please take us somewhere safe Yassen."

Lukyan moved forward "Is someone with you Aleksandr?... Sasha?" The guard moved forward but both boys were gone.


End file.
